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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29540250">whiplash</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitesclera/pseuds/whitesclera'>whitesclera</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Virtual Streamer Animated Characters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Mermaid Roberu but... also quite more than that</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:48:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,222</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29540250</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitesclera/pseuds/whitesclera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>treat this like its no different from me rambling in twt pls I had snickers and I wrote this w the energy of someone who has 5 minutes left until a school requirement deadline</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>whiplash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>treat this like its no different from me rambling in twt pls I had snickers and I wrote this w the energy of someone who has 5 minutes left until a school requirement deadline</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At age seven, he’d looked at his mother and said, “I want to go to the surface.”</p><p>She’d looked at him like he was insane, screaming hysterically in a tongue that only their kind understood. The whip of her gargantuan tail shakes the very ocean floor as she hissed with spite, the baring of her teeth warning him that it wasn’t beneath her manner of discipline to rip into his flesh.</p><p><strong>[They will kill you.]</strong> None of those who left their cradle returned alive; only a fool would think to go. <strong>[I could care less if it was any of ours. But you- <em>you</em> alone can’t leave.]</strong></p><p>In response, he’d bared his teeth back, the gold of his tail bright, uncaring of consequence. Royal ancestry, the crown prince, her precious son- he laughs at it all and thinks he would rather die with a harpoon through his chest than live a millennium ruling the waters. It suited his older sister more than it did him, anyway.</p><p>He was thirteen when he proved his mother wrong and washed up on shore, the gills lining the sides of his neck and back tenderly stitching itself shut as he learned to breathe through his nose for the first time. He will remember the agony of disgorging water from his lungs until they could take in air and the hours of pain he would endure as he watched his tail split down the middle to shed its scales for years to come. In fact, decades later, there aren't very many things that could compare to how that felt.</p><p>He will also remember how moments after he’d shakily risen to his feet, the water surged to gently lap at his ankles and wash away the blood that puddled into the sand. It beckoned him, weeping with fear and sorrow for the anger of his mother whose ire would be felt through a series of strong storms and tempestuous waves.</p><p>But he wasn't afraid. She’s no longer as strong as she once was, and the waters weren’t the same place they used to be. With him on the surface, there wasn't much she can do unless she makes to flood a portion of the continent under a wave of her calling. She might be ruthless but she wasn't foolish; a thousand casualties for one of hers wasn't worth the bargain.</p><p>Both as an affirmation of his resolve and declaration of self-exile, he’d gouged out his left eye to throw into the ocean for her to know that he will not return, carrying with it part of his ancestry. It would take him years before it heals, and several more before he could see through that eye with an iris that reminded him of his sister’s hair. It is a daunting reminder as any that he's more human than what he used to be.</p><p>He had stumbled through the sand after, marveling at its coarseness between his toes. The wind was strong here, so unlike the deathly stillness underneath, and he laughed, chasing it as it weaved through trees and plants he’d never seen before. </p><p>Those were happier times, Roberu thinks as he begins unbuttoning his shirt to throw into the hamper. Simpler, in a way. </p><p>Fifteen years later, he’s living in a place far away from home, living indolently and comfortably with an obsessive appreciation for fictional works that humans have created. It might not be ideal for many, but Roberu is quite- happy, if not content, with what he has.  </p><p>With his back turned to the tub that takes up most of the bathroom space, the water begins voluntarily pouring through the faucets. He still retains some of his abilities though he’s scarce with using them, knowing that it’s dangerous to exert his command over the water when he lives in such a heavily populated area. To prevent rupturing pipes or exploding tanks, he limits himself to parlor tricks like pouring a refill of glass in the kitchen while his hands are occupied with something else, or preventing the rain from dampening or dirtying his clothes.</p><p>His mother would <em>bewail</em> everything that Roberu has become and some days, that thought alone brings a smile to his face.</p><p>The water is careful not to touch his feet while he removes the rest of his clothes, parting and leaving him a safe path to traverse to the tub. It’s alive, where Roberu is, sentient enough to be likened to an animal but only barely. </p><p>Roberu contemplates it as he walks, the water chasing his every footstep until there isn’t a single dry tile. It was like a dog- no, a puppy. A clumsy little thing, eager to please, and so very curious of everything around it.</p><p>“Yes, yes, I’m getting in,” he mutters when he catches the impatient ripple, lips quirking fondly as he lowers one foot into the water. The transformation comes comfortably after years of practice- no longer a messy ripping of skin and flesh as scales cut through to cover the length of his legs, but more the gentle slither of gold on limbs that meshed smoothly against each other. Thin pillars of water are quick to wash away the faint trickle of pinkish tint which is to be expected; although it was easier, it didn’t mean the scales have stopped slicing through his skin. </p><p>“Ah, that feels <em>amazing</em>.” He leans his head back and closes his eyes, trusting the ledge to support his neck as he waits for his gills to pry open anew. “It’s been two months, after all. You’d think I’d start smelling after two days.” He laughs and the sound echoes with the quiet, agreeing droplets of water from his tub. </p><p>Physiologically speaking, they can’t produce body odors. Their skin’s version of a sweat secretion cleans rather than dirties or clogs their pores, which makes going two months without a full bath not as disgusting as it seems.</p><p>He waits for several minutes, gradually shifting his breathing from mouth to gills until they have filtered enough water into his body to make it possible for him to completely submerge himself under, the thing excitably splashing over his face as he finally sinks. His tub was relatively large enough to make it possible, and he’s rather proud of himself that he’d gone and got one that could.</p><p>Roberu stays that way, simply breathing in and listening to the water as it echoed the faraway calls of the ocean for him. He isn’t without love for home – he’d grown up there, and despite the brutal, hierarchical practices, he is one of them, too – but he has grown fond of the surface. The humans are interesting. Every single one of them with their supple skins and flimsy, brittle bones, carrying a steel-forged will that was no different from the one that Roberu brought with him to shore on the day of his exile.</p><p>However, if there is anything he misses-</p><p>Roberu opens his mouth and sighs, watching the bubbles break through the surface. The tub was a little deep but it was lacking in length, leaving a good portion of his tail to dryly hang over the edge, and the fins, once iridescent, hold a dull translucence. There is only so much heavily filtered water can do for someone like him.</p><p>
  <em>I want to swim.</em>
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